


Indecision

by SlipOfAScribe



Series: Vacillation [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Choices, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Explicit Language, Human Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Near Suicide, No Smut, Sick Stiles, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlipOfAScribe/pseuds/SlipOfAScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve written two letters, Derek. One is a lie. A damned good one and exactly what you need to hear. The other is the truth because I can’t leave without you having the option of knowing exactly why I am leaving you." Stiles voice was taut in his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indecision

Stiles held in his hands two handwritten letters as he stood before Derek. They were a few feet apart and both looked uncomfortable which was understandable considering for the past two years whenever they were in a room together they were no more than a few inches apart, if at all. Something heavy sat in the air between them and Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to feel it just as profoundly as Derek.

Two duffle bags, an old school backpack, and a small suitcase on wheels sat by the loft’s door. Neither men would look that way because that was the final, absolute step. They were still in the middle of this dance and that would be skipping too far ahead. Now, Stiles was running his thumbs over the two envelopes he held in his hand, the build up to the dip in their dance. Derek swayed on the outskirts of their perimeter, ever changing eyes much darker than usual. Of course, neither were going to touch on the idea of what Stiles looked like.

“I’ve written two letters, Derek.” His voice was high in his taut throat. “One,” he held up the envelope and it has black blocked letters. “Is a lie. A damned good one and exactly what you need to hear. The other,” he held up the next envelope which also had black block letters. It read “TRUTH” instead. His voice faltered and he had to stiffen his back to continue. “The other is the truth because I can’t leave without you having the option of knowing exactly why I am leaving you. It’s messy, it’s unfair, and it is definitely not what you need to hear but I have to give it to you all the same. Open whichever you feel you must, but they are my goodbye.”

Slowly, long elegant hands held out two damnable letters towards Derek and just as slowly, one thick shaking hand took them both.

 

MONTHS EARLIER

 

Derek and Stiles had fallen together as naturally as Nutella and a Spoon though it had made no sense at all. The alpha werewolf had a pack to run, the human had a college degree he was pursuing. All the same, they worked and honestly the pack was thankful for it. Derek had come out of losing his last relationship with a depression they weren’t sure he would overcome. It was hard for a wolf to lose their mate; Derek had lost two. Stiles, with his incessant mouth and puppy-brown eyes had, of course, wrung some details of Derek’s past from him and knew exactly what he was getting into.

Stiles had always been a bit clumsy, had no filter on his mouth and often his behaviour, and so the early signs had been smothered beneath his natural personality. It took more than a disinhibition and a lack of coordination to have Stiles begin to worry.

Derek had set down a mug of tea at the table for Stiles who was pouring over a rather thick book on organic chemistry. Stiles was taking the course for fun and had probably gotten into more than he had assumed considering he was also maxed out on credits this semester. He muttered a thank you and managed to lean into the hand that caressed his back before drifting off. Derek knew enough to walk away or Stiles would never get anything done.

After a few minutes Stiles reached out to grab the mug and the muscles in his hand tightened, then spasmed. He, of course, managed to knock the cup in the momentary loss of control over his own body and the mug clattered across the table, the books, and onto the floor. Hot tea pooled everywhere and Stiles leapt up with a startled cry, “Oh my god!”

The pack came running assuming some attack on their beloved human and alpha’s mate. Derek skittered into the room first, half wolfed-out.

“What’s the matter?” He growled looking around for something to attack.

Stiles had his hand extended in front of him and he was looking at it in mild panic. Quickly shaking his head and shoving his arm behind his back he choked out, “Oh, I just...uh, knocked the tea over.” He had the courtesy to blush as if he was embarrassed about wasting the tea Derek had made him.

The others settled and slunk out of the room leaving Derek and Stiles alone. The wolf immediately crossed the room and put his hands on Stiles, checking him up and down for some hurt he might have acquired in the tussle with the tea mug.

“I’m fine Derek, really.”

The werewolf didn’t look convinced but he did backup. He even went as far as occupying himself with cleaning up the mess Stiles had made. Stiles followed Derek’s movements with worried brown eyes, his hands carefully picking up the broken handle so as not to cut himself on the sharp edges. Tracking his walk across the kitchen, the cup was deposited in the sink, and Stiles dropped his head to avoid conversation. He could hear the sounds of a rag wiping across the floor and risked lifting his head enough to see a silent, brooding Derek mopping up the tea.

With a sigh, Derek dropped the rag down and huffed out an obvious breath that let Stiles know he was going to start talking whether he wanted to hear it or not.

“If something’s up you’ll tell me later.”

It was definitely a statement and they both knew what he meant. Stiles had been the one to implement ‘sharing time’ when they climbed into bed together at night. While Stiles had always been the type to dump everything on his mind onto the ears of everyone else, he wasn’t the type to spill emotional information that would sadden everyone. And Derek, well Derek wouldn’t say a damned thing even if you took a crowbar and tried to pry it from him. Alone, wrapped up around one another’s limbs in the dark though? It was safe.

“Yeah.” Stiles meant to sound a little more enthusiastic about it but he wasn’t sure he would say a damned thing. At least not until he was sure.

Apparently it was enough. Derek tossed the sopping wet rag into the sink and came back over, draping his larger form around Stiles from over the back of the kitchen chair. It was so domestic that Stiles actually felt a small ache in his gut.

Maybe that was actually guilt?

 

The next time Stiles noticed something out of order, he and Derek were at the supermarket trying to pick something for dinner. Stiles could taste the food he wanted on his tongue, smell it through the odd haze of a shopping crowd, and picture it like he was fucking holding it but he couldn’t for the life of him come up with anything beyond “the meat with the bread thing”. He almost said that outloud, in fact.

“Stiles, come on, we’ve been here an hour.” While this was a normal argument they went through every time and the reason they left shopping up to Lydia and Danny, there was a new element.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles tossed his hands up and jawed for a moment. “I know what I want just...hang on a second.” He ran through a list of words in his head, jumping to things he knew but never able to place the word he needed. “It’s the...I mean with the… you can get it, I just really want….”

Derek pressed his lips together and his eyebrows drew high in that look that used to accompany, “You idiot” until their relationship got more in depth.

“Never mind, just get whatever you want.” He deflated, pushed Derek’s shoulder, and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Probably smelling the frustration and defeat pooling off of Stiles, Derek moved along and grabbed stuff to make burgers. Definitely not what Stiles was wanting but he didn’t know that. Following along, Stiles fell into an odd state of silence, mouth slightly agape as was norm, and took note of how he moved his feet. Perhaps it was just in his head that he was a bit more clumsy than usual. He shuffled behind Derek all the way out to the car.

Derek pulled the door open for him and Stiles jumped a little, not having realized Derek had followed him to his side of the Camaro.

“Oh!” Stiles muttered, then leaned up against Derek’s chest, seeking comfort from the turmoil in his head. Derek still had a hand on the door, making sure Stiles didn’t run into it, but the other he wrapped around his mate’s waist and tugged him closer.

This was getting dangerous. Stiles could feel the need he had of Derek and wondered what would happen if this really was what he thought it was. He needed to confirm his fears, even if it was early on.

 

Stiles looked down at Derek curled up on the couch. He had come out here so that Stiles could finish a paper in the bedroom and apparently hadn't made it very far through a movie.

Derek's eyes popped open and he smiled up at Stiles, stretching his legs out before reaching out to Stiles. "Come here."

Immediately, Stiles folded over and curled up against Derek's chest, feeling long arms wrap around him protectively. "What were you watching?"

"Don't know. Scott left the t.v. on."

"Scott was here?" Stiles' voice was a little muffled from his face being engulfed by werewolf.

Derek nodded but didn’t say anything further. Stiles didn't need him to say anything. He knew he kept Scott from bugging him and he appreciated the gesture. Of course, Scott would need a bros night once term was over.

"Wanna watch superhero movies?"

"Sure. Start with Spiderman?" Derek was already grabbing the controller to the game system, pulling up netflix.

"Yeah!” He flopped around ungracefully until his back was pressed to Derek's front and they settled into a movie. One he knew Derek didn’t like much but watched at least once a month for Stiles’ sake.

Derek did things like that often. Probably more often than Stiles did for him. It made Stiles worry sometimes but they seemed to work well that way. Derek was a giver and enjoyed it.

"Thank you," Stiles murmured halfway through the movie. He turned around enough to give Derek’s cheek a peck then wiggled back into place comfortably. He was going to destroy Derek... His heart suddenly hurt as if he was having a panic attack. Chewing his lips he kept from slipping into a full one and watched the movie with such intensity he didn't notice Derek snoring lightly until the credits. Not wanting to wake him and not wanting to risk bursting into tears for no explainable reason, he just stayed there listening to the sound of Derek breathing.

 

Stiles had trouble with the bottle. This was why he locked himself in the bathroom to open it. Any medication bottle that Derek or the others saw they most likely assumed it was his adderall and he wanted to keep it that way. He never asked anyone to get them for him, never kept them in a shared space with Derek’s things, and shut himself in here to medicate on his antidepressant and antipsychotic cocktail.

His neck ached as he looked down at the bottle in his hands. His fingers stiffened and jerked each time he tried to push and twist the difficult lid. Screw doctors, didn’t they think it would be a good idea to make an easier lid for someone with progressive supranuclear palsy? Screw everything really.

He popped the lid finally, just in time to coordinate with a spasm in his left arm. The jar jerked and pills scattered across the tile floor. Stiles scrambled after them, bumping his arm into the corner of the sink counter and then banging his knee on the floor. He hissed in pain but gathered the pills back up. His father’s insurance covered some of the cost, but Stiles was still shelling out forty five dollars a refill so a few floor-pills were still going to be used. He popped two in his mouth and fumbled with the water bottle for a second before chasing the pills down.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door and Derek’s voice followed, “Hey, we’re going out. You coming?”

“Yep!” Stiles called out from the crouched position. “Just a sec, dude. Jeeze. Give a guy some space.” His voice was teasing, playing over the panic that washed hotly through him.

“Shut up and get out here,” Derek retorted but moved away from the door according to the footfalls.

Stiles heard the bedroom door close and he calmed down, breathed easier. Picking the rest of the pills up, he brushed them off as well as he could and popped them back in the bottle. Stuffing them in the back of his designated drawer, Stiles glanced to make sure they couldn’t be seen by just opening the drawer a bit, then headed to the bedroom with Derek.

“Where are we going?” He asked slipping his shirt off to find something more fitting than a t-shirt with an xbox controller on it.

“Just a bar, I guess. Ask Scott, he’s planning it all. Pack night.”

Stiles smiled, figuring he knew exactly where they were going. A college place. Derek would hate it. Stiles would love it, and get to play jealous boyfriend when college girls mistook this hottie for a professor. “Wear your glasses and a v-neck sweater.”

“It’s ninety degrees out, Gem.”

“Yeah but hot professor, young studly student…”

“Studly?” Derek quirked an eyebrow up high.

Stiles huffed loudly and rifled through the shared closet. “I’m studly,” he pouted.

Derek’s hands were suddenly on him, moving over his shoulders and down his arms. Stiles jerked slightly in pain when Derek’s hand caressed the spot he’d smacked into the corner of the counter. Derek pulled immediately away only to lean back in and inspect Stiles’ hurt.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, just, the counter bit me.”

“Bit you?” The Hale-frown was strong with this one.

“Yeah, I dropped my toothbrush, went to get it and the counter attacked dude. It was seriously a life and death situation, but hey, I made it out alive!”

Grabbing a green and black plaid button up, Stiles covered his body quickly before Derek could inspect the rest of him and inquire about all of the new bumps and bruises he was getting in his much clumsier state.

A frown was still plastered over the werewolf’s face, but he let it go for now. Beside, Scott started to whine at their door about getting in before the crowd. Lydia and Erica sounded over him, yelling out about dancing. The two guys had no choice but to hurry up and attend the needy pups.

 

Stiles knew that Derek saw something happening. The more words Stiles lost, the more his muscles rebelled and stopped working properly, the more Stiles pulled away from the pack and away from Derek. He used finals as an excuse but they were a month away. Still, the pack accepted this because he wasn’t doing so well in classes. Of course he wasn’t. Half the time, Stiles couldn’t read the fucking board, or the books, and his papers were shit when he couldn’t remember how to write a proper sentence.

The trips to the doctors were more frequent as well. Enough so that he made up a “study group” as a way to go without drawing attention to the fact that he was gone too much.

That didn’t matter. Derek knew. Because he was Derek Hale and Stiles was his mate. Derek knew something was wrong just as much as Stiles could tell Derek was worried about him. It was almost time. Stiles couldn’t possibly keep this up much longer and he couldn’t let Derek watch this.

  
  


A knock sounded at the door but Stiles didn’t want to answer it. He stared at the closed wood, hoping quietly whoever it was would walk away and leave him alone. The only person he couldn’t really keep out was Derek and that was because the bedroom was also his. Of course, luck wasn’t really on Stiles’ side as of late so the door pushed inward with a light click. Derek strode in and locked his eyes on Stiles’. The younger man knew what was coming but couldn’t rouse enough energy to pretend something wasn’t wrong.

“Over a month now Stiles.”

Stiles nodded his head slowly, scrounging for a word. He didn’t come up with anything and the voices in his head muttered.

Your fault...killing him...he’ll lose another...Don’t hurt him...

Derek’s voice broke through the din. “Just talk to me. That’s all I want. Just tell me what changed, and what I can do.”

The pain laced in his words ripped into Stiles like claws and he knew he could do nothing to stop it. How could he have been so selfish knowing Derek’s past? How could he have gotten into a relationship with a man like him when he had the chance of getting sick like this?

Pushing himself upwards, Stiles took a deep breath and fought for the words beyond the pressing headache. “I’m sorry Derek. There’s...I can’t talk but you need to know. I will write a um…” his heart raced as he flipped through vocabulary again and prayed to a general vagueness that he remember the word. “Letter!” he breathed out.

Derek folded his arms, frowned, then nodded once. He stalked across the room and gathered some paper and a pen for Stiles. Setting it on the bed, he leaned over and kissed Stiles’ forehead whispering, “I love you” against his skin.

Stiles’ entire body tightened and he almost broke, eyes burning and fighting the release. He couldn’t say it back. everything would be said in the letter.When Derek left, shutting the door, Stiles grabbed up the paper and pen. His hands moved quickly, shaking and scribbling, tears dotting the page because he coldn’t hold back anymore.

 

PRESENT TIME

 

The front door thunked shut and Derek was left standing in the loft alone. He listened to Stiles’ uncoordinated, quick steps all the way down and out to his Jeep. Things were tossed inside, the engine growled to life, and Derek’s third mate left his life. His body sunk in on itself once he could no longer hear the Jeep. Somehow he managed to make it to the couch instead of collapsing on the floor. his hands still gripped the letters, and he looked down between “lie” and “truth”. Both had tear streaks and Derek struggled with himself.

Finally his hands tore into “lie”.

 

Derek,

Don’t doubt that I loved you because I did. But I couldn’t stay with all ~~y~~ the wolves. I’m human and ~~couldn’t~~ didn’t want to try keeping up. I have   ~~sc sk~~ college and family to take care of. I was being selfish because you were pretty great. But humans can’t love wolves for very long. They’re too ~~sim much not~~ different and I just couldn’t keep it going.

We would have gotten really hurt in the end and I don’t need want that to happen. ~~I love you.~~ You will find the perfect mate, the perfect wolf some day because you really are a ~~good~~ great guy.

Always,

 Stiles

 

He had been right. The letter was perfect. It was enough of what Derek needed to accept that wolves and humans just didn’t mix. The fact that it was short and fairly impersonal was fine. He could look at it from a distance, logically. Derek didn’t have to mix emotions in an already emotional thing. He folded the letter back up, tucked it in the envelope and went to put the letters away.

The Truth he shoved in the junk drawer in the kitchen. The Lie he brought into the bedroom. Derek stood in the doorway staring at the empty space. Stiles had filled it with more things than Derek could have imagined. The spider man pillow was gone, leaving just the plain black one, alone. There weren’t school books scattered on the floor to the right, next to Stiles’ side of the bed. There was still two plates left on the dresser from when Derek had brought them both pizza one night attempting to make Stiles eat something, at least. Stiles’ slice still sat on one of the plates.

Shoving his eyes to the floor, Derek paid attention to his bare feet. He watched as they traversed the only carpeted area of the loft to the bed, the left side. He watched as he turned so he could sit down and place the Lie on the bedside table. Lying back slowly, Derek reached across the bed and brushed down where a lover used to lie.

He would like to say he’d been strong enough not to cry over the loss of Stiles. He would like to say he picked his head back up and kept trudging forward. He would like to be able to say that. Instead, Derek curled around his pillow and cried.

 

Two Months Later

 

The pack didn’t come around much anymore. It was Derek’s fault. He shut them out, shut everyone out. Every time someone had come to his door, rang his phone, or dragged him out of the apartment, Derek expected Stiles. Really, he was still waiting for the human to walk back through the door and save him from this shit Derek had come to call life.

It never happened.

He’d been disappointed too often with false hope that he’d attacked Scott for barging in one full moon. Since then the loft had been eerily quiet.

Derek didn’t really need company for what he was doing anyway. It didn’t take a pack to watch mindless hours of sitcoms. It didn’t take a pack to let food rot in the fridge and order takeout when the actual need for food eventually arose through the hours of sleep. It certainly didn’t take a pack to stare at the empty space attempting to remember the stupid things Stiles used to do around the place. No, that all only took Derek.

Currently Derek was staring at a computer with porn playing silently across the screen. He still had his pants on and was attempting to build up some desire to get off. Nothing was doing it for him. It took a full forty more seconds of some dude pounding into a younger guy before Derek slammed the laptop shut and tossed it across the room. It made a sickening crunch against the wall and Derek could hardly bring himself to care.

He leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. His body draped in the leather chair, arms hanging off the sides and his stomach burbled at him. The pizza from two days ago was gone. The empty box was on the coffee table. The chinese from a week ago was in the fridge but he wasn’t brave enough to enter that war zone. He wondered how long he could actually go without food before he starved to death. Wolves could go quite a long time, so maybe that was the same for werewolves…

His stomach growled louder and he sighed, hauling himself upright. Normally he would take a look at himself in a mirror, make sure his clothes weren’t a complete disaster, fix up his hair a little. None of that even crossed his mind any more. He just grabbed his wallet and keys and trudged down stairs to his car. Drive-thru was easy enough.

Derek was pulling the door open when a timid voice sounded from behind him.

“You don’t look so good.”

He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a steadying breath, then turned around. “I’m fine, Lydia. What are you doing here?”

“No one else will come check on you because you try to bite their heads off. Considering my run in with the supernatural and my perfect attitude for dealing with Hale-bullshit, I was the only option.”

Derek just stared flatly, not even glowering. He was too tired to keep up with her logic and intellect. “I’m fine. I am going to get food. Excuse me.” He climbed in but a pretty pale hand stopped him from the closing the Camaro door.

“You’re not fine. You look two steps from death.” She pouted her thick, bow shaped lips at him and Derek almost felt like he needed to listen to her. “Come back to the pack, let us help you out.”

“I’m fine,” he snarled and pulled the door from her grip.

 

Derek was a fucking wreck and he could no longer deny that. He was two-thirds of the way through wolfsbane spiked whiskey, collapsed against the wrong side of his couch, and was slurring curses at his empty loft. He barely looked at the fresh branch of bloomed Aconitum Noveboracense but his hand, which clutched a much folded letter, kept brushing it. He couldn't end it all with only a lie, though, could he? No matter how the Truth would kill him, he wouldn’t feel much of anything soon.

Pushing up away from the spot he’d picked to die, Derek stumbled to the kitchen. He’d stuffed the letter, Truth, in his junk drawer with the intent of losing it with old credit statements and things in his life that no longer mattered. His hands shook as he yanked the drawer completely out its shell, contents scattering across the floor.

“Fuck!” he growled and dropped down to all fours. He pawed through the mess, losing his balance repeatedly and sprawling occasionally. His bleary eyes sought out the envelope with the perfect handwriting, sought the word TRUTH in the disaster that so rightfully fit his life.

There! He grabbed it and flung himself back on his ass. His rough fingers tore at the back of the envelope to get to the inner contents. As he unfolded the letter he noticed, despite his drunken haze, that this letter looked much different than the other. The handwriting was neat, calm. No tear stains. It was also longer. Derek clutched the Truth, took a deep inhale, and read.

 

Dear Derek,

My mate, my love, my best friend.... I don’t know how to actually portray to you in titles how I feel about you. You were, and ARE, everything. You are The One which is why I had to leave.

You told me, reluctantly until I bugged you too much, that you had lost two previous mates. I knew you had been totally destroyed by this and I wasn’t sure you could love me like you loved them. Selfishly, I didn’t care. I wanted, craved, and needed you. Like, more than I need adderall. I also wasn’t okay with some ridiculous 10 year plan. I wanted you NOW.

It was a surprise to learn that I had become everything you needed, too. You know what the most amazing thing to me is? When I do some ridiculous, spastic thing and you just give me that huge, goofy smile that you never let anyone else see. Seriously, best thing in my life and I am lucky you let me take a picture of that because it is one of the things I will miss the most about you.

You cannot imagine how sorry I am. How sorry I am that you met me. I will never regret meeting you because you made my life perfect, but I know I fucked you up bad. I should have known that I would have gotten my mother’s disease but that sort of thing never crosses your mind, you know? Even hitting that close, it’s not something you assume could ever happen to you. But it did and I couldn’t deteriorate in front of you, not after seeing my mother go that way and not after knowing how you lost your first mate to a bite gone wrong, the second to cancer. I couldn’t let you go through that pain again so eventually I will write some stupid lie when the sickness is too much and I absolutely have to leave. It will be easier for you to handle, I hope.

If you do read this, don’t worry for me. I will leave when it’s progressed far enough that I only have a short amount of time left to suffer.  I will leave when it progresses to the point where my mother only had two months left. The doctors say I am handling the disease well, whatever that means, so maybe I’ll have four months…

Fuck, Derek, I really love you so much. Leaving you will hurt more than this fucking disease but I can’t hurt you.

Forgive me,

Genim Stilinski

 

Four months… It had been exactly four months since Stiles had shut the loft door and walked out of Derek’s life. He had lost him, absolutely lost him. Derek dropped the letters from his hands. Closing his eyes, Derek let the idea that Stiles was completely unreachable sink in. The idea just wouldn’t settle in his chest, though. He would have known if Stiles had died. He would have felt something beyond this numbing nothingness. The spiked alcohol wouldn’t let him move. He attempted one more struggle to his feet but collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

When Derek awoke he found himself somehow clutching the letter again. His head pounded beneath his skull but one thought flooded through the hangover.

Stiles.

There was a chance that his mate was still alive. There was a chance Derek could find him because damn him for making that choice for him. Derek could not sit here in the loft knowing that Stiles was dying alone somewhere.

He was freshly showered, shoving things into a duffle bag, when a knock sounded at the door. Derek growled, inhaling and took in the scent of the pack. Shit, just what he needed. Derek wanted to go. He wanted to track down Stiles, he didn’t want to deal with the pack right now. Flinging the bag over his leather-jacket covered shoulder, Derek pulled open the door.

“Holy shit, you look like you again,” blinked Erica.

“Where are you going?” Scott tilted his head and his eyes got ridiculously wide.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Lydia looked smug. Typical.

Derek nodded once to Lydia then brushed past them. “If you want to help, clean up that hellhole for me so I can bring him back.”

“Dude, where are you even going to start?”

Pausing, he turned to look at Scott, the one in the pack Stiles considered his best friend. “The old house, from before his mother passed. In L.A.” He turned back when Scott nodded and practically ran to the Camaro.

The six and half hour drive ahead of Derek was torture. He wasn’t sure how he didn’t get pulled over at least once, but didn’t dwell on it enough to slow down either. His hands were wrapped around a steering wheel as though letting go meant letting go of the ounce of hope he’d built up in his taut chest. The hangover sat pounding his head for most of it, reminding him of what he’d almost done. Of course, the shock he might have felt about that was overwhelmed with the images that flashed through his brain.

The traffic thickened on I5 when Derek descended from the mountains. He moved through it slower, not wanting to add a car accident to the fuck up he’d been pursuing the last few months. His “contentedness” kept him from reading a letter that would have had him here much sooner. If Stiles was beyond help, it was absolutely Derek’s fault and he would chase down that branch of wolfsbane if he had to watch his mate die.

L.A. traffic moved faster than Derek would have assumed but it still wasn’t fast enough for the rapid beating heart in his chest. His phone chirped out directions from where it was plugged in the center console. He didn’t waste time looking at the thing, but rather scanned the streets for the house he’d been shown by Stiles through pictures and stories. It was in a suburban area, slightly more run down now than it had been in the pictures. It was literally a white picket dream, a damned tire swing in the front yard hanging off one of the few larger trees in Lincoln Heights. It didn’t look like anyone had been on it in years, and he wasn’t certain it would actually hold anyone anymore.

The Camaro was idling in the street as Derek stared at the blue painted house. Stiles might be in there and Derek was terrified to see him again after so long. When you gave up hope of ever seeing someone again, Derek found, you should just give up on them. He’d learned that lesson over and over again.

Then again, the only possible worse thing Derek could think of right now is if Stiles wasn’t inside. He wondered briefly if dying at Stiles’ grave would be in bad taste….

A car horn sounded behind him and his foot slipped off of the breaks. He pulled into the drive and gave a brief apologetic wave. Slipping the gears into park, Derek opened the car door and stepped out. The walk to the door felt almost as long to him as the drive to L.A. His hand hovered, ready to knock but unable to as images of what Stiles might look like right now passed through his mind. Would he be able to climb onto the bed with him, nuzzle him until he woke and looked at Derek with those heartbreaking brown eyes? Would Stiles be excited to see him, regretting leaving the first place? What if Stiles didn’t want him here at all and he kicked Derek out? Granted, the Sheriff’s bullets wouldn’t kill Derek, but they would still hurt like hellfire.

He knocked too hard, too quickly. He basically spasmed in fear of what was to come.

The rapid steps that approached couldn’t be Stiles’. Derek steeled himself for the door opening up to reveal John Stilinski. He looked haggard, older, and much more gray than the photos Derek had seen. Photos. That’s all he’d been able to see of Stiles’ world and all he’d had of Stiles as of late.

“You must be Derek.” John’s eyes, dull blue and nothing like his son’s, stared with dislike at the man on his steps.

“Yes, sir. I… Genim left a note.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, feeling all of ten years old before the father of his mate.

John pursed his lips, nodded once and stepped aside to let Derek inside. He turned his back on the wolf, emphasising his trust or disconcern for the other’s strength. He stalked off towards what Derek figured was the living room, and Derek shut the door then followed after him. The living room was a bit of a mess, a blanket and pillow draped haphazardly on the couch and a few half drunken beers left on the coffee table. A change of clothes were sprawled across the armchair and a set of what Derek guessed were dirty ones from the rumpled look were tossed on the floor in front of it. John pushed the blanket and pillow aside.

“Sit. We need to talk.”

The darkness in John’s voice put Derek suddenly on edge. The man’s heartbeat was steady and slow. His face was a mask of tiredness once more. Derek sat. His hands folded in his lap and he barely touched his back to the back of the couch. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to see Stiles. He worried that this talk would mean there wasn’t a Stiles to see.

“He told you his real name?” John was making room for himself on the armchair, sitting on the edge of it and leaning in towards Derek.

The space of a coffee table suddenly wasn’t enough between them and Derek fought the urge to sit back further. “Yes, sir.”

John nodded. “He doesn’t do that often. You meant a lot to him.”

Meant. Derek’s heart froze for two whole beats and his throat tightened. “I didn’t know that he was sick. Nobody knew or I wouldn’t have let him leave.”

“Funny, you werewolves are so good at everything else. I would have thought you would have been able to tell if someone were sick.”

“Genim was good at hiding things from us.” Derek’s throat hurt like razors tore at it with each word. He shouldn’t have read the note. He should have stayed right behind that fucking couch and finished off the wolfsbane.

Seemingly oblivious to the torture Derek was enduring, John continued. “When the sickness progressed and the antipsychotics stopped working, your name was said a lot. I’m not sure what he meant by it because most of the rest was nonsense, but he stopped responding to me. Do you know how rare it is for this disease to present such vivid psychosis effects? Extremely. But of course, it had to happen to him.”

Unbidden, a tear dropped down Derek’s cheek and he stopped breathing to keep from making a noise he didn’t want to. “I could have, I mean, I would have helped him.”

Something seemed to stir in John as those words. His eyebrow lifted and his mouth quirked. “What would you have done for him?”

“Offered the bite. It would have taken time, but it would have healed him if he survived it. I’ve seen it happen before.” Derek didn’t want to talk about what ifs and had beens. There wasn’t anything to be done at this point.

“What is the chance that someone so sick would survive a bite?”

Derek took a deep breath, knowing that he owed politeness to Genim’s father at least. “Not very high, but… it depends on the person.”

“What is their death like if they don’t survive?”

Cringing more than internally, Derek remembered watching his first mate cough up the black blood, cry it out, and practically leak it from her pores. It had been from his bite. “Quick, but painful. The body forces the transformation out and destroys itself in the process.”

“Quickly though.” John noded once then stood abruptly from the chair. “Follow me.” He didn’t say anything else but grabbed his car keys and stuffed his feet into a pair of short workboots.

Derek frowned and followed after, figuring the only thing he had left to put off was his own death. They climbed into the Sheriff’s car and headed to Derek didn’t even have a clue. It wasn’t his first ride in a cop car but it was his first time in the front seat. Counting on not having many days left, he let himself look around, taking in all of the technology and weaponry in the front. He’d only ever caught glances of this from his three rides in the back of one. It was a very different experience, one he might have appreciated better in a different circumstance.

They didn’t talk. Derek wasn’t sure what they would talk about even if they attempted conversation. He glanced up eventually to look around and try to determine where they were going. It wasn’t until they pulled up to the LAC Medical Center that Derek understood.

Everything inside of Derek collapsed in on itself and he fought for the handle as soon as the car stopped moving. Rushing out, he stopped long enough to look back at John. “Where?”

John jogged after him, grabbing his arm and directing him. Derek debated brushing him off, but the contact didn’t annoy him like it normally would. Instead, he let John lead him to where he really needed to be.

The room smelled like the rest of the hospital, sterile and cold. Machines beeped in the background and the noise of assisted oxygen hissed in a steady, slow pattern. The lights were dimmed in this room but not turned off. It was also visible from the nurses station where three women stood. Derek had noted them there but paid no attention. He was focused on the person in the bed.

Stiles lay on his back, blanket tucked up just above his waist, arms at his sides. His chest rose and fell with the timing of the machine, lips wrapped around a thick, white tube. Derek crinkled his eyes and took a tentative step forward. “I thought he was dead.”

He could feel John at his back. “To you, he was. I made a promise not to tell you, but I couldn’t keep it knowing there was a chance for him. However slight.”

Derek wanted to look back, to thank John for bringing him here, for breaking his promise, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Stiles. He looked like a boy again, gaunt features, short buzzed cut, and pale skin. Derek drew closer, putting a knee on the bed. He could hardly breath as the scent of Stiles, his mate, broke through the tang of hospital disinfectant. Face drawn taut in a frown, Derek bent down and put his lips to Stiles’ forehead, leaving a warm kiss on the cold skin. He closed his eyes tighter, breath stuttering, then pulled back up enough to hover over Stiles’ face.

“Damn it, you idiot. All you had to do was ask…”

Grabbing the arm without the double PICC line, opened his mouth and unsheathed his fangs. The shift rippled through him like a fever and his nerves were on fire. His mouth hovered around the delicate freckle-spotted arm but he didn’t bite down.

“You should hurry up, before a doctor comes in.” John’s voice was worried and he shifted closer to the bed.

A battle raged in Derek but he knew he would lose his chance if he fought too long. Shutting down the emotional side of his brain, Derek bite into the soft flesh, at the thick spot just before the crook of Stiles’ elbow. The heart monitor escalated and the machines started to beep incessantly around the small room.

The taste of Stiles’ blood was sickening. It coated Derek’s tongue and his reaction was to pull away lest he be poisoned by what he’d bitten into. He was careful though, didn’t give into the instincts that urged his wolf from within. Carefully extracting his teeth, Derek pulled his jaw open, then pulled away. The bitter chemical taste washed around his mouth as he swallowed and then cringed.

The door to the room was barged through by a doctor and two nurses, all yelling at Derek to back off. He stood up and snarled, fangs released again and blood still on his lips. Something primal and feral took over and he did not want them touching Stiles. Stiles was his, not theirs. He clicked his claws out and they all came to a skidding halt a few feet from the bed. The nurses looked scared, the doctor was eyeing Stiles carefully. Derek didn’t like that. They might hurt Stiles and he needed to be okay to go through the change.

Derek snarled. “Don’t touch him.”

“Derek,” John spoke softly, not moving. “They are only going to help. They have to make sure his heart is working properly, that he can breath.”

“Get that werewolf out of the hospital, now!” The doctor’s voice pinged above the rest.

It grated on Derek’s ears and he turned his attention to him. He snapped his jaws again and started to advance, a growl emanating in a continuous rumble from his chest. This man was bad and he would not get close to Stiles.

Long fingers wrapped around Derek’s wrist, stopping him. The growl cut off immediately and his body hunkered down. He turned and his eyes flashed over Stiles’ body in the bed. Those brilliant brown eyes were open, tiredly, looking at Derek. Shame flushed his cheeks, and Derek shifted back. He turned around further, crawling up onto the bed next to Stiles and burying his face carefully into the younger male’s neck.

  
  


Stiles pulled in the first breath of his own since having the tube inserted three weeks ago. It burned slightly going down but it was better than having plastic in his chest. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and focused on slowly bring more air into his lungs. He could hear someone moving close by but still kept his eyes shut. He wasn't ready to see Derek yet, and he knew that was who sat next to had been sitting next to his bed the last three days.

"Do you need a water?" Derek's voice sounded scratchy and Stiles was sure it had everything to do with how much sleep he wasnt getting.

Stiles shook his head, squeezed his eyes tighter, and then opened them. Derek looked like hell. His eyes were rubbed dark, hair a mess of directions, and his clothes looked more than slept in. "Looks like you could use a shower though."

Derek quirked an eyebrow and gave one of his adorable Hale-glares. Stiles heard the heart monitor jump a rhythm. Great, as if the supernatural beast needed any help figuring out what Stiles' heart was doing, now there was a damned machine they could both hear yelling out his emotions.

Derek smiled. Just a little twitch in the corner of his lips really, but it was a smile. "You are an idiot, you know that?"

Stiles wanted to smile back. In fact, he tried to. "I don't want you to stay."

"What?" Derek looked thoroughly confused.

"I left so you didn't have to watch me die. You can't just stay now and defeat my whole self-sacrifice."

"Stiles-"

"No, you have to leave Derek. If I have to die you can't stay."

"Stiles-"

"Derek, you lost the others and I couldn't possibly ask you to stay and lose me, too."

"Stiles!" Derek growled loudly. "Shut up! Also, get up. Youre just fine and I am taking you home."

Stiles stopped talking for once and looked at himself. He actually was doing okay. He could breath, his body didn't hurt as much, and the voices in his head were his own. "What...?"

He didn't get to finish his question though, because suddenly Derek's hands were gently removing the PICC lines and IVs. Stiles was hauled up over amazingly muscled shoulders and hanging with his face near a sculpted ass meant for nibbling on before he could put together the fact that he was being moved.

"Derek, my gown!" Stiles flailed his arms back in an attempt to pull the two sides closed since his ass was now in the air, bare for the hospital to see.

The werewolf had the audacity to laugh. Well, okay, Stiles would call it a snort, but it was close enough for him. He hefted Stiles further up on his shoulder and gruffed at a nurse who started to get up from her chair. There was a vague memory in Stiles’ mind about Derek biting him and nearly attacking some hospital personnel. Apparently, it had stuck more clearly in their minds because the nurse sat right back down with a puff of breath and glared as they walked away.

Stiles pulled a hand from his gown, grinned, and waved. He was in shock, he was pretty sure, and would better calculate just what was going on once Derek had put him back on his own two feet.

When they reached the elevator, Derek still didn’t put him down.

Also, Stiles replayed some thoughts in his head. Bite. Derek bit him.

“You bit me!” he said suddenly, thumping him on the back.

Derek tossed his shoulder up, jarring Stiles. “Yes, I did because you’re an idiot and I wasn’t going to actually let you die.”

Stiles flopped and let his body go slack. It couldn’t be comfortable for Derek considering Stiles wasn’t a small person. He was as tall as Derek and he’d built up some body since high school, not that Derek had known him then anyway, but he hoped he was big enough that dropping his dead weight on the older male would make him put Stiles down.

“I’m not letting you go until you’re strapped in my car and headed for Beacon Hills.”

“I can’t just leave my dad. He has to know I’m okay. And who says I’m going back there anyway? Maybe I continued school here. Or like, got a job?.”

Derek scoffed and rubbed his cheek along Stiles’ hip. Stiles could feel the thick stubble through the gown and chuckled. “Your father already knows. He’s packed a car and headed to Beacon Hills with your stuff already. He wanted it all back there for you so you didn’t have to move anything. And I say you’re going back to Beacon Hills because I would kill someone if I had to live in L.A.”

Stiles lost the breath he’d just gotten back. When he managed to take a gulp of air, he wrapped his long arms around Derek’s back, hands clasping about his middle and his face pressed to Derek’s ass in an attempt to hug him. “I love you, too Derek. I’m sorry.”

The elevator let out a ding and the doors slid open. Peering from behind the slim hips of his boyfriend, Stiles saw a couple young patients and a bored looking male nurse attempting to enter. He grinned at the kids who giggled and waved.

“Don’t worry,” he said when they stood near him. “You’ll get out of here too and maybe a strapping handsome wolf will carry you out.”

The little girl tugged at Stiles’ sleeve, clearly wanting to ask a question. When Stiles nodded she giggled again and pointed up. “Your butt is showing…"

**Author's Note:**

> Here are links to the sites I got my information on the sickness Claudia and Stiles had:  
> http://www.alz.org/dementia/fronto-temporal-dementia-ftd-symptoms.asp  
> http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microtubule


End file.
